


Grasping at Smoke

by Rainbow_Femme



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, M/M, and poor achilles, fic request, fix it ending, patrochilles - Freeform, poor Patroclus, they never have a good time in my fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5258576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Femme/pseuds/Rainbow_Femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this anonymous fic request: "yess!! okay i want something angsty too! (but no chara death :D) and from that time so no au please. maybe about the gods interfering because they are afraid/sick of/generally angry with one of them prob achilles ^^ and thank u soooo much dear <3"<br/>Sooo, the gods decide to take Patroclus hostage until Achilles agrees to stop delaying his future and kill Hector so that the war may end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasping at Smoke

Patroclus' head was pillowed on his chest, one hand over his heart protectively. His breathing was soft and even, unlabored. Perhaps he was having a good dream. Achilles ran his fingers through his companions dark hair. Perhaps a dream about him. It was selfish, he knew, but he always wanted Patroclus to dream about him. Perhaps he would, after... Well, after it had happened. He hoped such dreams could one day bring his lover peace through the pain he would endure in the days following his inevitable fall.

The sense of imminent danger regarding Achilles' death had faded long ago, but Achilles knew it still gnawed at Patroclus, left the edges of his beautiful self torn and ragged, though he tried to hide it. His sweet Patroclus, trying to be so brave for him always, trying to make their time as precious and worry free as possible, not wanting to waste a moment of it. It hurt him, in these quiet moments of the night, knowing what he was doing to him. If things were reversed, he could not do what Patroclus had done, and continued to do. He had said it long ago in a grove of trees, that he would not handle someone taking something from him well. If he had been told Patroclus had two life paths to choose from, one to greatness and an early grave and another to a long life, he would have heard no argument. He would have torn at his hair, screamed himself hoarse, clasped him around the waist on his knees and begged through an ocean of tears to choose life, to choose him. Because living a life that he knew Patroclus would soon exit was an untold torture he could not bear. But Patroclus had. He had agreed to whatever made Achilles happy, he had agreed to follow him on his journey. He would follow him, whatever his decisions.

Only now, it was also in these quiet moments that he had begun to regret the decision he had made. Not only was he putting Patroclus through such things, what was it for? Glory he would never see? Fame he would never enjoy? True he was a skilled fighter, had always been exhilarated by fighting, but it had been ten years now, and he was growing tired. Ten years of fighting the same fight, on the same field, with the same people, for the same prize that seemed an eternity away. Perhaps such worldly decisions should not have been left up to a sixteen year old boy who'd had his head filled with tales of glory. Perhaps his mother had been right to hide him away to keep him from making such decisions.

He pressed his face into Patroclus' hair, inhaling deeply and sighing. What would he say, if Achilles asked to leave in the morning? Probably he would be thrilled; happy to leave war and fear and death behind for a simple life of happiness. A life of being together.

His eyes began drifting shut, the lulling sound of Patroclus' breathing dragging him down into the land of sleep.

\--

From deep within his own hazy dreams, Achilles heard a strange, far off commotion over his head, muffled angry sounds he could not identify. Then he felt the comforting weight of Patroclus' body disappear, waking him fully. Sitting up, he saw Patroclus kneeling on the other side of the room, his mother standing over their bed and staring down at Achilles, blocking his view of Patroclus.

"This is enough, Achilles. We will have no more."

Achilles frowned and stood slowly, looking between his mother and Patroclus, who was still on his knees in the corner, head down, not rising.

"This is enough of what, mother?"

"The gods are tired of this, Achilles. They are tired of you delaying the end of the war for your own selfish purposes. They are tired of you considering going back to your home and abandoning this war. They are tired of all of this, and I know it is because of him." She gestured angrily at Patroclus. "You will not do what you must do because you do not wish to upset him. You consider leaving so that you may please him. I always knew he would hold you back and now the other gods know it too and we grow tired of this. So, we have made a decision."

"You have all made your decisions on what I shall be doing with my life, then?" He raised an eyebrow at her. What could the gods do? They could not force him to walk onto that field and kill Hector. If they threatened to blow his spear from his hands and towards Hector then he simply would not fight. He would not be controlled like some child-

"We are taking Patroclus until you agree to fulfill your duty as a soldier and be a part of this war." That stopped Achilles cold, his chest seizing. She could not do that, the gods could not just take him away as a hostage until he did what they wanted. Could they? He looked to Patroclus who seemed to be unable to hear any of this, simply staring blankly into space as if in a trance. He could not take his eyes from him.

"I will do it, just leave us be."

"The gods have decided, Achilles. You cannot be trusted to do this on your own so we will make you. Believe me, having to watch my son be treated like he is a child was humiliating, but sadly I know that this is the only way to get anything done with you. You may have him back when you have completed your destiny and stopped this petulant foolishness." She turned to Patroclus then, two shadowy figures helping him to stand, his eyes still staring far off into nothing, frozen in time.

Achilles lunged forward, trying to grab him and pull him from their hands but more shadows kept coming, pulling him back and away from Patroclus, who was becoming harder to see, his form turning blurred in front of him.

"Let him go! I will do as you ask, just leave me Patroclus!" He strained against the arms holding him, trying to grab onto Patroclus and stop them from taking him away, but a heavy object made contact with his skull and he fell to his knees, grabbing his head in pain, the world spinning around him in a blurred whirlwind. When he lifted his head, he was alone in the tent, no sign of any of them.

"No!"

He slowly backed up against the wall of the tent, one hand covering his mouth to quiet his ragged breathing. No no no nonono, this was not happening. This was a terrible dream he was going to wake up from. Truly, the gods would not take Patroclus away, that was ridiculous, they would not take him away, they would not take him away...

The next he knew, Odysseus was kneeling in front of him, pressing a cold cloth to his head, someone holding a candle before his eyes. He jerked away and they pulled back.

"He is waking up, that is good." Odysseus nodded and brought over wine, urging Achilles to drink. He pushed it away, looking around frantically. Had it been only a terrible dream?

"Where is Patroclus?"

"We thought you would be telling us that, Pelides. We found you in here muttering 'He is gone' under your breath and nothing else. It has taken time to bring you out of it. Has something happened, has he left?"

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, breathing already becoming shallow as he realized it was real, it was all still happening.

"The gods have taken Patroclus, I do not know where, but they have taken him until I agree to kill Hector, I believe. They say they are tired of me stalling and believe this to be the only way to make me do as they wish. I must kill him, as soon as possible. I do not know what they shall do to him but I must have him back before anything can befall him, it would be all my fault..." The gods knew so little about the nature of humans, of their fragility. What if they kept him in Tarturus and he was killed by the Titans? What if he was given neither food nor drink and starved? Would they try to use him in ways they had used so many other humans, for empty pleasure while he begged to be returned home, wondered why Achilles did not save him?

He wanted to vomit at the thought of such things being done to his Patroclus. Hector must die tomorrow, it was the only way.

Once the others had determine he was alright, they left him, saying they would see him in the morning for battle. He hoped to spend the night alone, readying himself to kill the one man whose existence was keeping him alive, when Briseis entered his tent, large eyes blazing.

"What have you done?" Her voice was terrible, grating and raw.

Achilles moved a step away from her and the fury rolling off her in waves. "The gods have-"

"I know what your gods have done. What have you done to make them do this? What have you done that they would punish him for your misdeeds?" He saw then the tears in her eyes, the worry and fear behind the rage, the same that he himself felt. "Does he truly mean so little to you that you would let this happen? Over your own selfish self obsession?"

He swallowed painfully. "I tried to stop them. I told them I would do whatever they wished, but they would not release him-"

"Did you think you could cheat the prophecy so easily? Did you think you could have both the life and the glory without any consequences? Have you never stopped to think that not everyone wishes to sit back and allow you to do everything you wish, no matter who you hurt? First all those men who have died while you prolonged the inevitable, and now it is him! He does not deserve this, any of this, and you do not deserve him! All that happens to him is on your head. It should be you in his place."

"Do you not think I wish for the same thing as you? Do you think I do not wish it were I to be punished and not him?" His voice was as cracked and ragged as hers. They wer eon even plains now, two people who loved one man who had been taken from them.

"No." She looked defiantly into his eyes. "I do not think you do. I do not think you could ever do what he has done for you thousands of times thanklessly. You could never sacrifice for another. You could never be like him." With that she left, fading into the empty night, the silence she left behind suffocating him. Was she wrong? No, he didn't think so, not about everything. He could never be like Patroclus, he could never deserve such a man who could sacrifice so much for love. But he would try, he would sacrifice the safety of secured life if it meant saving his Patroclus. He would have to, there would be no life for him without Patroclus by his side.

The next morning he dressed quickly, leaving the tent and heading to the battle field before his Myrmidons were ready, many running after him to try and catch up, wanting to see the battle that would eclipse the excitement of the last ten years put together.

"Hector!" His eyes scoured the battlefield, looking for the familiar bronze armor. He caught sight of the man on the other side of the field, eyes meeting. He knew how he must have looked; chest heaving, eyes deranged, blood lust in his movements. The man took one look and fled in the other direction, Achilles quickly giving chase.

"Hector!"

Spears tried to catch him but he was too fast, swords thrust towards him never caught their mark, arrows flew just behind him, none could touch him in his quest to save Patroclus. They did not know that they could not kill him; that as long as their prince breathed he was immortal, their efforts all useless. 

It took hours of chasing, but he never tired. The battle raged around them but neither seemed to notice. Finally in the middle of the field, surrounded by friend and foe alike, they stopped, facing each other, chests heaving, gleaming with sweat under the morning sun. Hector knew it was the face of death he looked into.

"Please, grant me this. After, give my body to my family." He swallowed, eyes beseeching.

Achilles nodded slowly. "It is your death I wish for alone, your body is nothing to me." And with that, his spear was out of his fingers and buried in the chest of the prince. Cheers and cries rose around him but he could hear none of them, casting around he tried to catch sight of Patroclus, who must have been returned to him now that he had done as the gods had wished. But he was nowhere to be seen, nowhere among the faces of his happy countrymen or the angry faces of the Trojans.

_Of course he is not here, it would be too dangerous to put an unarmed man on the battlefield. He must be back in our tent._ He quickly led the rest of the Greeks back to camp, all wanting to celebrate the slaying of the prince with feasting. He slipped away from them and went excitedly to his tent to see Patroclus, only to find it just as empty. 

Had he not killed Hector? Had that not been enough? What more did they want from him? Whatever it was, he was prepared to do it. Perhaps it was his destiny to kill more heroes and he simply did not know it? Perhaps by destiny they had meant more than just Hector? He would kill them all if that was what it took to get Patroclus back. He would not rest until he was safe in his arms once again.

\--

Hero after hero came and went, all seeking glory and all finding their end by his exhausted hands. From every corner of the world they came to challenge him, Amazonian queens, fierce warriors from the depths of Africa, all thought they could defeat Achilles and align themselves with Troy, or take it for themselves later.

With every kill Achilles looked to find Patroclus, always hoping that perhaps 6 was the number of heroes he had to kill, or perhaps 11, or 14. As their blood dried on his hands he waited and waited but Patroclus never came. He began to fear that he had imagined the entire interaction, that Patroclus had died and he had created this fantasy to cope. It would make sense, would it not? Why would the gods have taken him only to not give him back? What could they want with him that would last this long? His mother had promised. Had she promised? He thought she had promised, he thought that's what she had said. It was becoming harder to remember now...

He kneeled and lifted his spear from the bloody ground, Troys youngest prince now dead upon the dead earth, having foolishly thought that he could be the one to slay Achilles. Only the Amazon woman had come close, and she had not truly come that close. A thought occurred to him then, as he wiped the blood from the head of his spear, bare knees pressed to the hard packed ground. Perhaps the gods meant they would keep Patroclus until the destiny of his death was fulfilled. That would make sense, they were always so careful with how they chose their words to avoid having to follow through with their promises. Perhaps they meant that Patroclus could come back only after Achilles had welcomed death.

As he considered, he heard an arrow being knocked behind him. How convenient, he could test his theory now. Even if he were wrong, he could not go on living like this. Patroclus was gone from him, quite possibly forever. His days were empty save for the fighting, and that only took so much time. He could not continue living like this, left alone without Patroclus who was gods knew where. Briseis wished him dead, this he knew. He could see it in her eyes whenever he passed her, knowing she blamed him for the void Patroclus had left in all their lives. He wished for his own death as much as she did. He could not look at their empty tent again, he could not stand the crushing pain of hoping that somehow when he lifted the tent flap, Patroclus would finally be returned to him. He hurt everywhere, he was too tired to do more than fight and sleep. If the arrow was meant for him then he welcomed it, and the relief of death that it would bring. And hopefully, Patroclus would be released and allowed to live his life once again, no longer having to follow Achilles wherever he went.

He closed his eyes as he heard the archer release the arrow, heard the soft whistle as air moved over the imperfections of the wooden shaft, waited for the sting of its entry, but it never came. Instead he heard a small metallic thud, as if the arrow had hit someones armor instead. Had it not been meant for him after all? It seemed silly to waste a chance to kill him while he was unarmored and vulnerable. He turned to see who the arrow had hit, only to be met with the legs of a soldier in brilliant bronze armor he did not recognize. Heat was radiating from him, as if the armor was still fresh from the forges. The arrow was crumpled uselessly by the mans feet, broken from impacting against the hard metal.  

He stood from where he had been kneeling and looked at the soldier, stunned when he saw the eyes, eyes he would know anywhere. Dark eyes that shone brighter than the armor the soldier wore. Yes, these eyes he would know anywhere. He was pulled fiercely against the warm armor, arms encircling him.

"Didn't get any better at waiting without me, did you?" The words ruffled his hair softly, proof that he was here. Achilles held on tightly, nodding wordlessly against the warmth radiating against his cool skin.

"Why were you not returned to me? I killed Hector, I killed them all trying to get you back..."

"They did not believe that you truly would allow the prophecy to be fulfilled. Not until you were willing to die did they believe that you could be trusted." He pulled the helmet from his head and dropped it, pulling Achilles' mouth to his passionately before continuing, lips brushing against his as he spoke. "It was a torment, to watch you from so far and be unable to touch you, hold you, speak to you..."

Achilles buried his fingers in Patroclus' hair, shivering at how wonderful it was to do so again. "A torment I can understand." He touched their foreheads together. "The gods are fools if they believe I did it for them or their prophecy, I simply wished to have you back." Patroclus grinned brilliantly at him.

"Do not say that too loud, I really do not want to go back." 

Back in their tent, Patroclus told Achilles of his time among the gods. He had lived in a strange place where things seemed to be too solid, too strong, and he too thin and insubstantial to touch them, as if he were made of mist rather than flesh. He could watch all that happened to Achilles, he could hear the gods speaking of him. They had meant to send him back after the death of Hector, but as he continued to kill more heroes without him, they kept Patroclus back, curious to see how far Achilles would go, if he would let himself completely fulfill the prophecy and be killed, all because of what they said. Thetis was proud of her son, that he could kill all who came into his path. Patroclus knew it was not for her or any of the rest of them that Achilles kept fighting, but he kept that to himself. The gods did not speak to him, nor acknowledge his presence in any way, so he tried to do the same. When it was clear that Achilles was about to let himself be killed, Thetis had forced them to intervene. Giving Patroclus armor, he was sent to the field to protect Achilles and keep him alive to the next battle. He had proven himself enough.

Achilles ran his hands reverently over Patroclus as he spoke, moved to tears of relief that he had not been mistreated or hurt. He pressed his face against that warm neck, ran his hand over his smooth abdomen, kissed and caressed any skin he could get his hands on, whispering over and over that he loved Patroclus, that he would do anything for him, that he would never again let them be separated, gods be damned.

That night, nestled against Patroclus, resting for the first time in weeks, he dreamt that he went to Agamemnon and told him he was leaving with Patroclus and returning home. He dreamt he could feel the anger of the gods around him like the charge in the air before a lightning strike, but knew it would never come, that they would not interfere again for fear of making plain who they were trying to help win the war. He dreamt that he boarded their fleet of ships, taking what treasures he had already won, including Briseis, who seemed to have grudgingly forgiven him, and they left for home with their Myrmidons. He dreamt that Briseis had kissed Patroclus on the cheek and went to look at the water on the other side of the ship. And as he looked at Patroclus' smiling face as the sea air whipped through his hair and brought them ever closer to home, he thought that perhaps it only felt like a dream because it seemed too good to be true. He took Patroclus' hand and decided now was not the time for questions.


End file.
